


Dark Night of the Soul

by marmolita



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Religion, Season/Series 01, more like missing thoughts from existing scenes, not really missing scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Of all the treasures in this place, you chose to save this.  Why?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Because without the word of God, there is only darkness.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Night of the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eris_historia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eris_historia/gifts).



> Eris_historia, I hope this is the kind of thing you were looking for! Title is a reference to the poem _Dark Night of the Soul_ by Saint John of the Cross (written well after Athelstan's time), although I was thinking of the [Loreena McKennitt version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_MnEwaSdlnk) when I titled it. The bits in italics are quotes from the show.
> 
> Warning for brief suicidal thoughts.

***  
_  
Of all the treasures in this place, you chose to save this. Why?_

_Because without the word of God, there is only darkness._  
  
***

The cold spray of the ocean keeps Athelstan's hair and clothes covered in a layer of salt, dampness seeping through his robes, dripping down his tonsure and chilling his head. He pulls his hood up for warmth, closes his eyes, and prays. One of the Northmen laughs, loud and raucous, and Athelstan squeezes his eyes tighter.

***  
_  
Why did you spare my life?_

_I don't know yet._  
  
***

He has barely eaten in three days, only the few spoonfuls of thin porridge and strips of raw fish his captors provide; his stomach gurgles noisily. He sits up, pushing gently against Brother Cenwulf, who has fallen asleep on his shoulder. The weight of Cenwulf's head stays steady, and Athelstan slowly realizes there's no body heat radiating from him. Stifling panic, he calls out Ragnar Lothbrok's name.

"What is it?" Ragnar asks, irritated.

"Brother Cenwulf here, beside me. I think he's dead."

Ragnar nudges Cenwulf, whose head rolls lifelessly backward. "You're right."

Athelstan doesn't know what he is expecting, only that it is not for Brother Cenwulf to be dumped over the side of the boat like so much offal, becoming food for the creatures of the deep instead of being cleaned and blessed and buried as a temple of the Holy Spirit ought to be. He bows his head and says the last rites for Cenwulf, grief and anger prickling at his eyes.

***  
__  
Athelstan. Athelstan, we want to ask you something.

_Come and join us, Priest._

_Come on, don't you want to? You'll enjoy it._  
  
***

The farm is quiet in the morning, once the children have gone off to their chores, and Ragnar and Lagertha to work the the land. Athelstan could run, but where to? He makes his way to the shore to wash instead. Kneeling on the rough rocks, he removes the rope from around his neck, looping it over his head. He sees the red mark it leaves behind in his reflection in the water, stares at it for a moment, then breaks it with his hands, scooping up water to wash his face.

There is at least a week's worth of beard growth on his cheeks and chin, and it prickles against his palms. It's more beard than he's ever grown in his life. Something twists and tightens in his chest, and he slides his hand up his cheek to feel the shaved tonsure of his head. There's hair there, a quarter inch, maybe more.

He remembers the day he was inducted into the novitiate, the scrape of the razor over his head, the Grace he felt flooding his body. His life, planned out for him from the moment his parents gave him up to the Church, just beginning. His future, bright and holy.

Athelstan clenches his fingers in the short stubble of his hair and cries.

***  
_  
Christian people give away their riches to the churches and monasteries in order to save their souls._

_What are their 'souls?'_  
  
***

Ragnar pulls Athelstan through town on a leash like a dog. He shoves him to his knees in front of Earl Haraldson. He says, "He is not a stupid person, however stupid his god is."

He tells Earl Haraldson how he plans to attack England again, using the information Athelstan unwittingly provided.

He had thought Ragnar was actually interested in learning about him, in learning about his God.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Athelstan is in a daze of guilt and horror as Ragnar tugs the leash, pulling him to his feet and back through the village. He catches sight of the stockade, and the two dead bodies of his brothers hanging there, and all he can think is _those are my brothers; this will be all my people._ There is a tug on his neck, the rope cutting into his skin, but he can't take another step. He can't--

He can't live, and be responsible for the deaths of thousands.

Athelstan falls to his knees and prays for forgiveness. Ragnar approaches, knife ringing as it's unsheathed, and grabs his chin, pressing the knife to his throat. _Lord, forgive me for what I have done. Let this earthly suffering end._ He braces himself for the pain and hopes it will be quick.

Instead, Ragnar cuts the ropes around Athelstan's neck. "Run away if you want," he says, then turns and leaves. Athelstan blinks in surprise; is this some kind of test from God? Why was his life spared, not once, but twice? He glances at the stockade again. Why was he allowed to live, when his brothers were not?

Ragnar's footsteps retreat, leaving Athelstan alone. He cannot comprehend the mind of Ragnar Lothbrok, who equally wields his sword with fury and extends his hand in mercy. He cannot comprehend it, but the fact remains that he is still alive, whether it's God's mercy or human mercy that has spared him.

Athelstan chooses to put his trust in God's mercy. He struggles to his feet and follows his master.

***  
_  
You cannot place a slave above me, your natural son!_

_I do not regard him as a slave._  
  
***

Ragnar and Lagertha have been gone for weeks. Athelstan is alone, here in this strange place, somehow responsible for the lives of two children and a farm full of livestock. He goes through the motions of the day, hardly thinking, ignoring Bjorn's rebelliousness, grateful for Gyda's gentleness, but he doesn't _live_.

It's quiet, with Ragnar and Lagertha gone. He thought it would be a blessing, to be free of their near nightly escapades, of having to resist the temptation of Lagertha's naked body night after night, gleaming in the light of the fire -- having to resist the temptation to touch himself as Ragnar and Lagertha made love, open and unashamed.

He thought it would be a blessing, but instead it's become a curse. Athelstan has become accustomed to their presence -- accustomed to Lagertha's direct commands and gentle, laughing smile, accustomed to Ragnar's sharp wit and his company in long hours of hard labor on the farm.

He never expected he would miss them. 

"Where are You, Lord?" he asks, at night when the children are asleep. "Is it Your will that I am to remain here with these Heathens? How does it serve You? I don't understand." He thinks of the night Ragnar revealed his plans to Haraldson, of the bodies of Brother Aedric and Brother Osmund strung up on the stockade. "For the first time in my life, I am angry with You. You allow my brothers to be slaughtered and sold. Is this really Your will?"

Athelstan thinks of Ragnar slicing the ropes from his neck. He thinks of Ragnar entrusting him with his children's well-being, and Lagertha's fierce love of them. He thinks also of their kindness to him; having been in their town this long he has seen the harsh treatment many other slaves face. He misses England, and his brothers, but he finds that it's to a lesser degree than he misses Ragnar and Lagertha. "For the first time, I feel lonely. Where are You, Lord? Where are You? And why don't You answer me?"

There's a rustling in the eaves, and Athelstan moves closer to investigate. It's an owl, settling in the corner of the ceiling, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He remembers, in Lindisfarne, Brother Cenwulf pointing out the owls that roosted near the monastery. "The owl is a symbol of Christ," Cenwulf had said. "Christ loves the darkness of night because he does not want sinners, who are in the darkness, to die, but to be converted and live."

Athelstan stares at the owl, and thinks perhaps God has an answer for him after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Ade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ade)and [Callia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/callia) for beta! Also the bit about owls is from the Aberdeen Bestiary almost word for word.


End file.
